


Seeing Beyond

by microwaveslayer



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is Mostly Human, Cecil's Drinking Problem Has Gotten Out Of Hand, The Palmers are pretty much superhuman, good guy steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3502406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microwaveslayer/pseuds/microwaveslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve refuses to let Cecil get drunk and yell snippets of prophecy at passer-by, so he lets him sober up at his house instead of in that cold, lonely apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Beyond

Steve Carlsberg knew three things about Cecil Gershwin Palmer.

First, Cecil saw things Beyond. Cecil's sister and Steve's wife explained it, but nothing about the prophecy or taint of elderich blood made any sense to Steve. He did understand that that all the men of the Palmer line experienced these visions and Cecil could control these visions of Beyond. Mostly.

Second, Steve knew Cecil lapsed in his control and howled these visions of Beyond at random passer-by when he drank an insane amount. Cecil had to drink enough to kill elephants (He worked out the numbers with Carlos one day) for him to start howling. Once he started, it was almost impossible to get him to stop.

The third thing Steve knew—and this being from the current stinging of his jaw—was that Cecil Gershwin Palmer had a mean left hook.

“The sevens fold and burn,” Cecil hissed. “When the streets are bathed in blood, bone-white and bone-thin handles will cup the blood and paint with it.”

Steve ignored the comment like he ignored the knuckles to his jaw. Instead, he half-carried and half-dragged the prophecy speaker to his car. Steve got Cecil into the passenger side and Cecil turned, focusing on Steve with squinted eyes that glowed ever so subtlety.

“You . . . outsider of blood. There is much pain before the joy. A dawn so dark the sun may never shine again, but keep faith.”

Steve closed the car door carefully and Cecil slumped against it.

The car ride to Steve's home (There was no way he was driving Cecil to that empty apartment where more booze could be hidden in very creative ways.) was filled with uncomfortable feather-light touches and half-finished prophecies that Cecil whispered in Steve's ear.

He pulled into the driveway and, when the engine stopped, so did Cecil's whispered words.

“Cecil, you need to just . . . stop. You can't do this shit all the time,” Steve sighed.

He glanced over and found Cecil was staring, head tilted as though he was listening to something else. Steve sighed and got out of the car, helping Cecil out. No point in trying to reason with him while the Voice was still drunk.

Once inside, Steve helped Cecil to the guest bedroom, something Cecil's sister insisted on keeping in “case of emergencies.” This, so far, was the only emergency it had been used for—a place for Cecil to sober up and write down some of the things he saw.

Cecil stood in the centre of the room, not moving and back to Steve. He rolled his eyes and left the Voice to his own devices, but a bony hand grabbed his wrist.

Steve stared at Cecil, stared into those eyes glowing with the faintest touch of something Beyond. He wanted to pull away, but Cecil leaned in closer. Steve felt Cecil's hot breath, reeking of alcohol, and Steve began to tremble, afraid of what Cecil might say.

“There will be blood before the sun rises. Pain, sorrow. The sun will raise with the faith that things continue,” Cecil whispered.

He let go of Steve and closed his eyes, sighing softly. Cecil flopped onto the bed and his breathing slowed.

Steve left the room, closing the door behind him, careful not to wake Cecil. He didn't think he could stand another prophecy.

When he walked down the hallway, he choked back the feeling that of bile rising. He made it to his bedroom—empty again—and sighed. Hopefully, morning would bring something better.

 

Steve fell into sleep with dread.

He could see a shore, but the light was wrong. Instead of the water being topped with white spray, the dark waves were washing red foam ashore. Instead of smelling salt—something Steve anticipated from an ocean—there was the deep stench of something rotten, of death.

He glanced up at the skyline and found a void so deep he shuddered, holding himself tighter. The chill reached deep, worming into his bones. He wondered what warmth felt like.

But this was a dream, some deep portion of his mind whispered. This was a dream and the chill was imagined and the stench of death just as false.

When he glanced up, a ring of pink began at the skyline. Pink deepened into red into orange and the sun rose. The blood on the surf began to turn from red to purple and then to blue. Instead of a chill, warmth spread, empowering and comforting.

He stood, staring at the surf.

Steve Carlsberg woke up in a sheen of cold sweat and decided a cold shower would be best.

 

When he came downstairs, Steve heard two voices talking. One, a girl, giggled loudly and whispered something. Cecil whispered something else ad the two began laughing.

He stepped into the living room and the two quieted immediately.

Janice, sitting in her wheelchair with a grin, rolled back and forth. She obviously knew something Steve didn't, but he wouldn't ask.

Cecil was curled up like a cat on the couch. In his hands, he gripped a steaming cup of coffee. He smiled, but his was more subtle and less smug. He glanced up at Steve and nodded.

“Sorry if I said anything last night,” Cecil said. He didn't look sorry, but Steve knew how to pick his battles.

“It's alright, Cecil.”

“I made coffee,” Cecil told him. He took a sip, watching Steve and almost daring him to pick a fight in front of Janice.

“That's fine,” he told Cecil. “I figured you might need to sober up a little after last night.”

Cecil glanced down at the mug in his hands, staring at it. Janice stared at Cecil, then at Steve.

“What happened last night?” Janice asked.

“Nothing,” Cecil murmured quickly, beating Steve to it. “I bet you had fun last night, right?”

“Megan's parents are so cool,” she said, nodding so enthusiastically Steve was worried her neck would snap.

Cecil chuckled and agreed, “Cooler than cool.”

“Totally!”

Steve smiled a little at their exchange. He didn't know exactly how old Cecil was, but he still managed to have a bond with Janice that seemed to be forged only by unspoken things or words Steve didn't hear.

He stepped into the kitchen, fixing his own cup of coffee and trying to listen in on the hushed conversation in the living room.

“Uncle Cecil, do the visions scare you?”

“Not really, Janny.”

“Can you see your own future? Tamika told me she found a book on visions and it said no one can see their own future.”

“Well, that's right. I haven't seen anything about my own future.”

“Do you think I'll see visions?”

“I hope not. Sometimes they can be . . . unsettling. I even get a little startled when I hear them again.”

“Does Mom get visions?”

“No.” Cecil paused, sighing softly. “I think you won't either, which won't be a bad thing.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“You have different talents, Janny.” Cecil.

“Okay, but Tamika's going to think I'm lame.”

Steve cringed as he stirred his coffee.

“No. She'd think you're lucky. You've got a deadly aim.”

“I guess so.”

Shifting. “I'm sure Tamika will be happy to have a friend like you.”

“Yeah. She's so cool, Uncle Cecil!”

Cecil chuckled, “The coolest.”

The Voice stepped into the kitchen, smiling. He saw Steve and his face fell. He rinsed the coffee mug out, putting it in the empty dishwasher.

“I'll go,” Cecil told him. “If Janice--”

“I know,” Steve told him. “You'll be the first I call.”

“She's not going to see the things I do. No women in our family have. If Janice has what her mother does, let me know.”

And Cecil left like fog evaporating before the sun: Quietly and with hardly a trace he had been there.

Steve stepped into the living room and asked, “So, Janice, how was the sleepover.”

She grinned and said, “Tamika asked me to lift a wardrobe, so I did.”

Steve's face fell and he excused himself to the kitchen. He heard Janice roll into her downstairs bedroom as he called Cecil.

Steve Carlsberg knew only one thing about the women of Cecil's family from both experience and explanations:

Once puberty set in, they developed superhuman strength.


End file.
